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a lot of phrases have been going through my head lately. do they sound right? the only one i can remember right now:

- "i like that you don't need me."

i've been accused of many things. look at me, i say "accused" - it automatically colours it with falsity, exagerration - there is no room for it to be true. there is no room for it to be an observation.

i enjoy only the chase.
i cultivate neediness and enjoy the power.
i don't know what i want.

the last one perhaps closest to the truth.

how can i know when this Other comes back to haunt me...this opposing voice, the one that tells me i'm worthless, i'm immature, i'm bad.

like any good sullen teenager living in the suburbs, i tried to scratch it out of me. i tried to scrape it out, bang it out, cry it out.

i latched onto saviours and said prayers of devotion and self-flagellated.

is it destined to return, again and again? a messiah for every season? is that what i've created for myself?

i know it's the rush of hormones, the worn-out body and softened mind, but it doesn't excuse the fact that it's still there. is this the curse of all women, that at the stroke of midnight, their true selves are revealed, hideous, frightening, threatening, demanding.

what is my true self?
is it a werewolf...no, too aggressive, something to be feared in a more prototypical way. it has fangs.

what is it, then? i lie when i say there are two sides - there are too many to count, rather. perhaps my fascination with disassociative disorder has a root. could i personalize each of them? could they have names?

i spoke last night, or was it this morning, of having the problem of "integration" - i've heard that term before. i read it in sybil, the minds of billy milligan. gathering up these personalities and forcing them to sit in the same boat, and hope they just row in the right direction - together, since that's the only way to really get anywhere.

when i sob, i feel out of control, and when i sob, i feel 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23.

i feel small.
i feel weak.
i feel dispicable.

i feel worthy of physical pain because i can't control this emotional pain. i can't stop the dam from breaking. my selves in that boat, trying desperately to paddle, going nowhere with the water rising.

where have i gone? or is it, where did i go? i never felt more in control than i have lately. i never felt more free, confident, and sure. and now that feels wrong.

h. wanted to make sure my new-found happiness was not mania, because she can't differentiate the two. the happiness will peak, see, and then the drop - the plummet - occurs. have i crashed? has it all been an ascension of false hope, mind-flooding chemicals, distortions of reality?

i have a full bottle of gabapentin. that drug i was taking, the one used to treat epilepsy and seizures, but just so happens to treat mood disorders resistant to SSRIs. a mood "stabilizer" though one wonders if "stable" is an accurate synonym for "comatose".

i have several hundred tiny tablets of risperdal. i tried taking them for and at my grandfather's funeral in january and they didn't seem to work. i could try them again.

but i know this is not the descent. i know this is not the plummet, as horrible as it all feels. that's what pains me the most, is that i'll wake up eventually and remember it, hungover, and groan and have to assess the damage. what did i do during that time? what did i say? did i mean any of it? what does "meaning" entail, anyway?

mean.
i didn't mean it.
i didn't mean it like that.
i'm not trying to be mean.
it was mean of me.
i'm mean.
you're mean.
don't be mean.

good. now that word looks useless and unreal.

i need to erase all meaning.